


Write It In Blood

by Faetality



Series: Steter Bingo General Tropes 2018 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder Husbands, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: You weren’t supposed to meet your soulmate when you were about to die. You weren’t supposed to meet them when your world was falling apart and everything you knew was wrong. You weren’t supposed to meet your soulmate when there were claws against your throat and blood in your mouth. Your soulmate wasn’t supposed to be the one that killed you.





	Write It In Blood

**Author's Note:**

> For the general trope squares - murder husbands and soulmates

You weren’t supposed to meet your soulmate when you were about to die. You weren’t supposed to meet them when your world was falling apart and everything you knew was wrong. You weren’t supposed to meet your soulmate when there were claws against your throat and blood in your mouth. Your soulmate wasn’t supposed to be the one that killed you. 

But when had anything in Stilinski’s life gone the way it was supposed to?

 

“ _You_.”    
The blade sunk into the beast, shock and glee shifting into confusion then back into something feral, Stiles twisted the blade, kicked out, and wondered briefly if this was his punishment for the things he did. But there was no God; and so it couldn’t be divine.    
“Me.”

 

They fucked for the first time in a cheap motel room, kisses that tasted like blood and bruises felt like a victory. It wasn’t nice or sweet, but it was good and perfect.

“So you know about werewolves.”   
“I do.”

“I could still kill you.”    
“You won’t.”   
“And why is that?” 

“Because you’d be dead before you tried.”

 

  
  
Stiles got a tattoo, one of a wolf with blue eyes and a bloodstained muzzle. Peter thanked him on his knees, kneeling in an alley beside the body of a dismembered wendigo that had stared too long at his boy in the club that night. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so good to me. My wolf.” 

 

 

Stiles says ‘I love you’ when Gerard Argent is declared dead in the news. He says ‘I trust you’ when he’s patching up wounds that were meant for him, wolfsbane making the blood run black. He says them both a thousand times with his hands and lips, with the edge of a blade and the blunt force of a baseball bat. He says it in the dark alleyways and in the mornings when they're still hiding under the covers. 

Peter knows it’s true when Kate Argent is tied up in a warehouse with the same wolfsbane rope Stiles had tied his hands to the headboard with days before. He knows it when he washes her blood from his hands.    
He says it all back with tears. 

 

Peter asked him to marry him with a ring made of steel and mountain ash. Stiles said yes with a blade soaked in blood. 

 

  
They honeymooned in Italy where Peter bought him wine and kissed him sweetly under the stars. They stayed in Paris where they danced to old records. They killed a Kaprey in Germany the week before they left, carving sigils and declarations to each other in flesh and bone.

They were both bloodstained and broken, bruised and bloodied, jagged pieces of each other. It didn’t matter that they were hell bound. They made their heaven in each other.

 

“Would you kill for me?”

“Always.”   


“Would you die for me?”   


“I would live for you.” 


End file.
